OCTAGONAL SOBAN, Joseon Dynasty (1392–1897 CE)
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> Inquire about this or a similar itemThis exquisite octagonal soban, crafted during the Joseon Dynasty (1392–1897 CE), showcases the artistry of the period. The legs feature delicate openwork carvings, and it is constructed from high-quality hardwood that was commonly traded at the time. While octagonal trays are often prone to warping, this piece maintains a stable form without distortion, exhibiting a deepened wood grain that reflects years of drying and aging. Whether used as a tea table or a flower stand, it allows for the integration of the simple yet profound aesthetic of Joseon into everyday life. The final photograph provides examples of how it can be paired with other tea utensils for your reference.
w42 x d42 x h21 cm
The Joseon Dynasty (1392–1897) ruled the Korean Peninsula for roughly five centuries. It was not merely a succession of kings, but an era in which a single system of thought permeated every corner of society. With Confucianism as its state ideology, Joseon upheld “ethics and restraint” and “order and sincerity” as virtues across its institutions, education, and ways of life, deeply shaping society’s aesthetic sensibilities and ideas of value.
Its aesthetic placed emphasis not on surface splendor or technical virtuosity, but on forms and modes of being that quietly support a person’s inner life. Vessels and furniture were not simply tools for use; they may also have served as a kind of “place of self-cultivation,” ordering one’s daily conduct and state of mind. A plain jar in a scholar’s study, a simple desk, an undecorated brush rest—these were objects before the eye, but also mirrors of one’s posture and thought.
It is no accident that crafts from the Joseon period possess a presence that “does not say too much.” They were made to accompany the inner life—not to overwhelm the viewer, but to breathe alongside us and quietly restore a sense of order.
In white porcelain, for example, such “unintended phenomena” as the slight flow of glaze, variations in the clay body, or slight irregularities of form were accepted as they were. They embody a spirit of broad acceptance, unlike the modern aesthetic that treats perfection and uniformity as the highest values. This view reconsiders the boundaries between nature and human making, beauty and imperfection, object and mind; it is not an exaggeration to say that it existed beyond the frame of craft as the spirit of an age.
If we were to name it, the beauty of Joseon is not a “beauty of display” but a “beauty of resonance.” Its beauty lies not solely in the attraction of the object itself, but in the opportunity it gives us to reconsider how a person ought to be through the object. For this reason, an object must not speak too much; it must contain intervals, open space, and silence. I cannot help feeling that such thought runs beneath the making of these objects.
These values eventually crossed the sea and took deep root in Japan. In the world of chanoyu in particular, Joseon white porcelain and buncheong ware were already being used by the Momoyama period. Their simple, quiet character—different from the solemn grandeur of Chinese karamono—came to be embraced. The tea aesthetic of “clearing the mind before what does not speak” resonated deeply with the silence and imperfection held in Joseon vessels, nurturing a gaze that found in them the spirit of wabi-sabi.
With the arrival of the modern era, thinkers of the Mingei movement such as Yanagi Sōetsu and Kawai Kanjirō found in Joseon vessels “the power to purify a person” and “a form of life as it ought to be.” At a time when craft was being forgotten, these objects were welcomed not merely as old vessels but, with profound sympathy and respect, as presences reflecting a way of living itself.
When I, living in the present day, encounter the crafts of Joseon, I am moved once again by their stillness. They contain the thought of an age that asked how a person should live and how one should be. That thought has not faded; it continues to resonate clearly even now.
Its aesthetic placed emphasis not on surface splendor or technical virtuosity, but on forms and modes of being that quietly support a person’s inner life. Vessels and furniture were not simply tools for use; they may also have served as a kind of “place of self-cultivation,” ordering one’s daily conduct and state of mind. A plain jar in a scholar’s study, a simple desk, an undecorated brush rest—these were objects before the eye, but also mirrors of one’s posture and thought.
It is no accident that crafts from the Joseon period possess a presence that “does not say too much.” They were made to accompany the inner life—not to overwhelm the viewer, but to breathe alongside us and quietly restore a sense of order.
In white porcelain, for example, such “unintended phenomena” as the slight flow of glaze, variations in the clay body, or slight irregularities of form were accepted as they were. They embody a spirit of broad acceptance, unlike the modern aesthetic that treats perfection and uniformity as the highest values. This view reconsiders the boundaries between nature and human making, beauty and imperfection, object and mind; it is not an exaggeration to say that it existed beyond the frame of craft as the spirit of an age.
If we were to name it, the beauty of Joseon is not a “beauty of display” but a “beauty of resonance.” Its beauty lies not solely in the attraction of the object itself, but in the opportunity it gives us to reconsider how a person ought to be through the object. For this reason, an object must not speak too much; it must contain intervals, open space, and silence. I cannot help feeling that such thought runs beneath the making of these objects.
These values eventually crossed the sea and took deep root in Japan. In the world of chanoyu in particular, Joseon white porcelain and buncheong ware were already being used by the Momoyama period. Their simple, quiet character—different from the solemn grandeur of Chinese karamono—came to be embraced. The tea aesthetic of “clearing the mind before what does not speak” resonated deeply with the silence and imperfection held in Joseon vessels, nurturing a gaze that found in them the spirit of wabi-sabi.
With the arrival of the modern era, thinkers of the Mingei movement such as Yanagi Sōetsu and Kawai Kanjirō found in Joseon vessels “the power to purify a person” and “a form of life as it ought to be.” At a time when craft was being forgotten, these objects were welcomed not merely as old vessels but, with profound sympathy and respect, as presences reflecting a way of living itself.
When I, living in the present day, encounter the crafts of Joseon, I am moved once again by their stillness. They contain the thought of an age that asked how a person should live and how one should be. That thought has not faded; it continues to resonate clearly even now.
Yoshiki Umemori / ROCANIIRU
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